


I Have Thee Not And Yet (I See Thee Still)

by Decepticonsensual



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: Decepticon gift-giving traditions are just alittledifferent from Autobot ones, as Hot Rod discovers when he receives an unexpected present from Deadlock.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod, Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Comments: 20
Kudos: 118
Collections: Secret Solenoid '20-'21





	I Have Thee Not And Yet (I See Thee Still)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rcxdirectrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rcxdirectrix/gifts).



> Secret Solenoid 2020/2021 gift for rcxdirectrix! Thank you for the awesome prompt, I enjoyed it. :)
> 
> Warnings: Slightly suggestive, but the on-page action doesn't get beyond kissing.

“So…” Hot Rod paused in the doorway and let the word hang in the air for a moment. “Is this a flirty threat, or just a regular old threat?”

The sight before him was, he had to admit, impressive. Directly in the centre of the rickety little table in his quarters – actually _in_ the table, driven point-first into the age-spotted metal of its surface – was a knife. Although that word didn’t seem to fully do it justice. The hilt was elaborate, carved from what looked like a single piece of crystal. It caught the light from the open doorway and glittered, its depths sparkling with the subtle colours of deep space.

The blade was easily as long as Hot Rod’s forearm, and looked deceptively mild in the way of very, very sharp things.

“It’s not a threat,” a voice rasped from the shadows.

Red optics flared in the dark, as one shadow detached itself from the others and slid forward to the edge of the pooling light. Deadlock’s face emerged from the darkness bit by bit, the starkness of the light making those familiar features seem sharper, hungrier, than ever.

Hot Rod grinned. He locked the door and flicked the lights on, and then practically bounded across the room so he could leap at his uninvited guest.

Deadlock caught him in midair, Hot Rod’s legs wrapping around his hips; like this, they were close enough to feel each other’s ventilations.

“Hey there,” Hot Rod breathed.

Deadlock just smiled that blade-thin smile, and staggered a couple of steps forward so that he could tip Hot Rod backwards over the table, pinning him and kissing him.

Which was a glorious distraction – until Hot Rod opened his optics again and found himself almost nose-to-nose with the knife.

“So what _is_ it?” he asked, breaking away from the kiss reluctantly. Deadlock gave him a sardonic look, and Hot Rod rolled his optics. “Not _what is it,_ I’ve seen a knife before. I mean, if it’s not a threat –”

“It’s for you.” Deadlock was suddenly having a hard time looking him in the optic.

“You’re… giving me a knife?” Hot Rod craned up to tease Deadlock’s collar fairing with the tip of his tongue. “You keep doing stuff like arming the enemy, and I’m gonna start thinking you don’t mean it when you say you’ll never defect...”

“Look, if you don’t want it, just say.”

“What?” Hot Rod sat up as Deadlock pulled away. “No – that was just a joke. It’s gorgeous. I was just a little surprised, is all.”

For some reason, that only made Deadlock tense up further, his helm hunched down so far into his shoulders that it looked like he was about to transform. Hot Rod bit his lip. At a loss, he reached to gently tug the knife out of the table.

It came free with barely a whisper of metal on metal, and even the simple movement of sliding it loose felt strangely satisfying. Hot Rod might not have much experience with weapons that were fancier than standard Autobot issue, but he knew enough to realise, as he weighed the knife in his palm, that the worth of what he was holding probably eclipsed the combined value of every blaster his unit owned. It was more than the price, though. The hilt fitted to his palm like it was made for him, and the balance of the blade was exquisite. This knife had been chosen – maybe even designed – by someone who knew intimately how Hot Rod fought.

He swung it in a slow arc, and the movement sang through him like the very best of transformations.

Hot Rod couldn’t help but whistle. When he looked up again, Deadlock was watching him.

“You like it, Hot Rod?” The Decepticon was wearing a familiar smirk, but there was something uncertain in his optics.

“It’s perfect.” Hot Rod sketched a flourish in the air. “Wouldn’t want to be the guy on the wrong end of _this_ blade.”

Deadlock let out a pleased growl, and pounced again; and this time, Hot Rod was distracted for a lot longer.

***

“Figures, really.”

They hadn’t made it as far as the bed. Hot Rod rolled onto his back from where he was sprawled on the floor, and stretched, noting all the little struts and wires that would be pleasantly sore in the morning.

Beside him, Deadlock gave an inquisitive little, “mmph?”

“I mean, I should’ve known that Decepticons give each other weapons as presents.” He chuckled. “Beats the Pit out of a bottle of high grade.”

Deadlock sat up abruptly. For the longest time, he simply stared at Hot Rod.

Then he dropped his helm into his hands with a groan. “You don’t do that.”

“No?” Hot Rod’s brow furrowed. “It’s… not really a thing? Half our command crew are Praxian, they still think giving someone a blade is bad luck –”

Deadlock groaned more loudly.

“Hey, _I_ don’t think that, I’m just saying...” With mounting concern, Hot Rod slid closer and, when Deadlock didn’t move away, risked wrapping a hand around his arm. “It’s okay; it’s the _coolest_ _thing_ and I love it.”

Deadlock allowed the touch, but the discomfort was practically radiating off him. Something nagged at the back of Hot Rod’s processor.

“Uh… wild guess, but does it… mean something specific, when you give someone a weapon?”

“… why would you think that?”

“That’s a _yes_!” Hot Rod crowed. “Come on, tell me, what does it mean?”

“Just forget about it, Autobot.”

Hot Rod tilted his head to the side, ignoring the switch back to calling him by his faction. “Come on,” he said, more gently this time. “Never known you to shy away from saying what you want to say to someone’s face.”

Deadlock finally looked at him. “A knife. Not a weapon, a knife.”

“Gotcha. So what’s special about a knife?”

“Knives are personal. You can keep it hidden on you when you couldn’t keep a blaster, when you don’t have other defences. Might be when you need a weapon the most.”

“So...” Hot Rod felt a bit like he was sounding out words in another language. “So you’re making sure that I’m never unarmed, even when I’ve got my guard down.”

“Yeah.” Deadlock’s voice was little more than a whisper.

“Even like, say, when I’m in my own quarters on an Autobot base. Something crazy could happen.” Hot Rod gestured between them. “A Decepticon could break in.”

Deadlock shifted. “Not saying you’re going to need it –”

“No, I think I get it. It’s about trust, isn’t it?” Trust, for an Autobot, would mean ditching all weapons in one another’s presence; but what Hot Rod was piecing together about the Decepticon version made a fascinating kind of sense. “You’re showing me I can trust you, by making sure that if you up and attacked me, I could do something about it. And you’re saying _you_ trust _me_ not to just use that to stab you the moment your back is turned.”

There was something in Deadlock’s optics, in the moment before he hurriedly turned away; something startled and open, more open than Hot Rod had ever seen there.

“And if you wear it,” Deadlock muttered, his voice rough, “then you trust me, too. Trust me to give you a decent blade, at least.”

“Trust you to have my back.”

There was a longer pause, this time, and then… “Yeah.”

Hot Rod reached up and plucked the knife off the table. He’d have to ask someone – Brainstorm, maybe; someone who wouldn’t demand to know where he’d got it from – about a sheath for it, but for the time being –

Deadlock glanced back at him in time to see Hot Rod tucking the knife carefully into his subspace. And although neither said anything, the look on Deadlock’s face made Hot Rod feel like he’d just stepped into an oil bath, the warmth spreading through every wire of his body.

***

_Two weeks later:_

Deadlock had been looking at the object in his hand in complete silence for the past twenty seconds, and Hot Rod was starting to get nervous.

“I mean,” he opened, “it’s only the key to _my_ quarters. Not the key to the base, I couldn’t do that. But needing to sneak onto base has never exactly stopped you, so...”

Deadlock was still silent. Slowly, he turned the key card over on his palm.

“And I know, you’ve never had a problem breaking into my quarters, either; in fact, it’s probably easier than getting through Red’s security, so I guess it’s just more convenient – or, not _convenient,_ really, but this way you don’t have to –”

“I don’t have to wonder if I’m welcome,” Deadlock murmured.

Hot Rod broke off, and grinned in relief. “Yeah! Exactly.” He reached out and closed the Decepticon’s hand around the key card. “Even if I’m not here. This is a place you can always go.”

He was still grinning as Deadlock kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> The Praxian superstition about knives is something I took from a common superstition in Ireland and some other parts of Europe (a knife given as a gift with "sever" the relationship - something that can generally be averted if the recipient ceremonially pays for the knife with a penny, although I'm not sure if that part of the tradition made it to Praxus :)). However, in other parts of Europe, the gift of a knife can indicate respect or confer protection on the recipient. Turns out, our traditions are at least as varied as those on Cybertron...
> 
> Happy holidays and best wishes for the new year, everyone!


End file.
